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noticed this huge grin spreading over her face, and it dawned on me that I might have gone a teensy bit too far.
    ‘Aha!’ She was exultant. ‘So it’s The Golden Smiler who floats your boat.’
    ‘Nooo! He’s the only one I’ve spoken to, that’s all. I’m sure if Mediterranean Man had talked to me, I’d have just as much to tell you about him. And that other one in the crowd who I forgot to study. I mean, you said yourself he was handsome. And he was. Very handsome.’ Of course, I was back-pedalling like a clown on a unicycle and looking just as ridiculous.
    Sacha was having none of it. ‘Millie – it’s so obvious. You have this really quirky meeting – like in the movies – he rushes over in concern, he touches you; that’s a big plus…’
    ‘For heaven’s sake, he was checking on my injury not feeling me up.’
    She nodded her head, completely dismissing my explanation. ‘He smiles long enough for you to describe, in anatomical detail, his eyes and leaves you panting for more.’
    ‘I am not.’
    ‘You’ve gone all twitchy, Millie. If that’s not a dead give away, I don’t know what is.’
    I stood up. ‘This is not how it’s supposed to go. I need to keep a cool head and stick to my plan. Next week, Marshalhampton are playing at Romwick, so I’ll be going over there to get more data and interact with some of the others.’ I headed off to the kitchenette in the corner, and took the duck out of the oven.
    ‘Well, I think you’re mad.’
    ‘And then I’ll have to go to Churchill.’
    ‘Why?’
    ‘Because it’s a team I haven’t checked out yet. I can’t make any decisions till I’ve assimilated all the data.’ I began shredding meat off the bone.
    Sacha came over and leaned against the counter. ‘You have a lot more self control than I do. Because if I really fancied the guy, I’d be camped out in that pub at Marshalhampton for the rest of the week, on the off-chance he might pop in for a beer.’
    I stopped shredding for a moment and looked at her.
    A smile broke over her face. ‘You like my idea, don’t you?’
    I wondered if it would be such a bad thing – getting a head start on one of the contenders. So I shrugged. ‘Well, I wouldn’t go every night, but maybe we could pop in one evening for a bite to eat.’
    Sacha clapped her hands. ‘Now you’re talking like a real woman – and not some professional marketeer with a pen up her arse.’
    Moments later, as we sat on the floor by the coffee table, Sacha stopped smearing Hoi Sin sauce over her pancake, and fixed me with a troubled look. ‘This photographic project you’re doing, how’s your hero going to feel when he finds out it’s all a huge scam? I mean, will he really want the mother of his children to be a con artist?’
    Ouch!
    This was, I confess, a topic I’d been skating around, myself. Throughout the planning process, the ‘man’ in question had been purely hypothetical. Now, there was a face…a number of faces. When The Chosen One and I reached the snugly, post-coital, pillow-talk stage I would, undoubtedly, confess all. ‘I prefer the term: creative strategist.’
    She raised her eyebrows and looked momentarily preoccupied as she gathered up a generous pinch of spring onion. ‘So you’ll tell him, then? You’ll say, “I thought you’d make good marriage material so I stalked you.” Not got a very romantic ring, has it?’
    ‘And dating agencies have? Feeding your personal statistics into a website, so some computer program can match your data strings with somebody else’s?’
    ‘Will you go the whole hog – check criminal records, credit bureau, list of registered child abusers…?’
    ‘Now you’re being ridiculous.’
    She held her arms out. ‘Millie, either you’re serious about this or you’re not. I know a couple of cute cops who might be happy to assist you with your inquiries.’ She winked.
    ‘Ha, ha, very funny.’
    ‘Well, I just hope Mr Right doesn’t come across that